A Thousand Invisible Strings
by lirodendron
Summary: This is just a short little one-off story. Sherlock makes a change that has more implications than either he or John like to admit. Bit of Johnlock UST. "Sherlock has been summoned to see Mycroft and is in a bit of a snit about it. He had really hoped that such a simple request could be handled quickly and quietly, without any actual personal contact with his brother."


Sherlock has been summoned to see Mycroft and is in a bit of a snit about it.

He had really hoped that such a simple request could be handled without any actual personal contact with his brother. It was just paperwork after all, but he should have known Mycroft would want to meddle. He didn't see any way out of meeting him, not if he hoped to get it taken care of quickly and quietly, and since the alternative was Mycroft coming to the flat, he opted to preserve his dignity and go to his office willingly. Semi-willingly.

"Problem, Mycroft?" Sherlock asks in a bored tone, striding in briskly and throwing himself down on one of his brother's antique chairs, putting his feet on the pre-Revolution upholstery. "I'm really very busy today."

"No, you're not, you haven't got a thing on. I made sure of it." Mycroft says calmly, pointedly ignoring the passive aggression. "I wanted to talk to you about this situation in person."

"Situation? Isn't that a bit drastic? It's a simple legal transaction. One that, I might add, I am completely within my rights to do."

"Be that as it may, I still think it's not a good idea. For the record. I realise that's unlikely to stop you, but I do want you to think very carefully about what you're doing and what it means."

"Means?" Sherlock snorts. "It doesn't _mean_ anything, it's just a practical measure for the current state of things. I thought you'd be pleased I'm thinking about the future for once."

Mycroft sits and sighs. "You would really like to believe that, wouldn't you? Do you honestly not see what you are doing here?"

"Oh, please, enlighten me," Sherlock snarls. "Tell me what I'm doing because I could otherwise have no possible way of knowing my own mind!"

"You can't keep him, you know. He's not a pet or a possession or even an anthropomorphized skull. You can't make him stay with you."

Sherlock's expression loses a bit of the childlike peevishness he typically greets his brother with and shades towards true anger. "I'm not trying to do anything of the sort. John makes his own decisions and I expect he'll continue to do so."

Mycroft looks unconvinced. "Do you remember that bird you found? The one with the broken wing? After you fixed it up you got so angry when it tried to fly away, so you tied it with a string so you'd always have it to talk to. What happened to it?"

"Mycroft, I was six."

"What happened, Sherlock?"

"It _died_. And that's all very sad and moving and says something deep about my own twisted psychology, I am sure, but I like to think that there is a significant difference between a capable adult who I am friends with now and a sparrow I found when I was still in short pants!"

"So would I," said Mycroft in a tone that makes clear he doesn't believe there is. "But you've woven him very thoroughly into your life, and made yourself indispensible to him, and that seems just lovely right now, I'm sure. One day, though, he's likely to wake up and realise either that he's got to move on, or that he wants to but that you've got him so tightly bound that he can't. And either way you'll lose him then."

"Like I said, John makes his own decisions. I'm not forcing him to do anything. And I resent your implication that I am."

"As you resent nearly every attempt of mine to help you. But fine, consider this – even if you are both perfectly content with your current arrangement, and remain that way, string or no string, you are still quite likely to get him killed one day. In fact, the closer you keep him, the sooner that will be, even if he has no desire to get away."

Sherlock goes very cold. "I am not going to let that happen."

"You are not likely to get a say. And as much as I enjoy John's company, he's not the one I'm concerned about if that happens."

Sherlock stands abruptly. "Well, this has been... terrible. Are you going to do as I've asked, or do I have to take care of it on my own? I do despise lawyers."

Mycroft manages to stop his gaze from flickering to his law degree on the wall, but it's a close thing. "Clearly I'm not going to change your mind, so I'll take care of it for you. You'll have to come back to sign everything when it's ready."

"And you'll say nothing to John about it?" Sherlock presses. "You can hardly accuse me of using this as a way to make him stay with me if he doesn't know about it."

"Hardly," Mycroft says dryly. "If that's what you want, I won't say a word."

* * *

John has been summoned to see Mycroft and is in a bit of a snit about it.

Mycroft got him on his way to work, which means he doesn't want Sherlock to know he is meeting with John. That's never a good sign. In addition, instead of having John brought to his London office, he's had the driver take him to a country house quite a few miles away. John briefly wonders if he's about to be murdered.

Mycroft has tea brought to them in the sunny parlour of a truly enormous house and sips placidly, as if they did this all the time. John glowers. "Would you like to get to the point any time soon? I'm missing my shift."

"That will all be smoothed over with your employer, of course."

Of course. "Well?"

Mycroft puts his cup down. "Sherlock has asked me to change his will. He also asked me not to tell you about it."

"Why _would _you tell me about it?"

"Because he is changing it to leave you everything he owns."

"I – what?"

Mycroft nods. "His personal effects, his papers, his trust fund…"

"Trust fund?" John supposes he shouldn't be surprised. Sherlock never seemed to be wanting for cash, despite mostly not getting paid for his work, and it was no secret that the Holmes family was well off.

"I've been administering it for him for years, ever since the incidents of his youth."

"You mean when he was a junkie," John says sourly and Mycroft winces.

"If you wish to be indelicate, yes. It was decided that unlimited access to large sums of money would not be beneficial for him. It's one of the many reasons he resents me so very much. But he has access to more than enough to keep him afloat, and if he should die it will all go to you now. There's quite a lot in it."

John shudders. "I'd really prefer not to think about it."

"He's also giving you his power of attorney, to make decisions for him if he is ever incapacitated."

"But you're his brother, it should be you!" John exclaims.

"He doesn't trust me."

"So, why are you telling me all this? Going to try to convince me to refuse it? Don't want the Holmes fortune dispersing? Fine, I don't care about the money, but Sherlock can do what he likes."

"Do you really think so little of me?" Mycroft sighs. "I assure you even the prodigious amount from Sherlock's trust fund is not enough to make the smallest dent in the 'Holmes fortune', and I certainly wouldn't begrudge you it, not after the number of times you've saved my brother's life. No, I'm telling you to warn you."

"Warn me?" John is genuinely puzzled.

"Surely, you understand what this means. The level of…attachment… this action shows."

"Ah. Well, now that I think about it…" The thought truly hadn't occurred to John, so caught up in his reflexive antagonism to Mycroft, but now it sinks in.

Mycroft nods. "I wanted you to know, because if you have the intention of making your association with my brother anything less than permanent, now is the time to extricate yourself. Actually, it was several months ago, but you can be forgiven for the oversight as he is rather hard to read."

"Is this your version of the 'break his heart and they'll never find your body' speech?" John asks. "Because you're not very good at it. Not to mention we aren't actually together. All your surveillance must have told you that much at least."

"That part is irrelevant. He's come to trust you, moreover, to need you. The longer it carries on, the more devastated he will be if you ever decide to end your… friendship. If you're going to do it, better sooner."

"This is very flattering," John tells him. "But I think you may be overstating things a little bit. We work well together. I don't mind saying he's my best friend. But Sherlock hardly needs me. Besides, he may be difficult but I'm sure he's had other flatmates and friends at some point in his life."

"Not a one. He's never lived with anyone before, besides family as a child."

"Never? Come on."

"He went to public school at aged 11, and there were dormitories, of course, and yet somehow there was always a buffer zone of empty bunks around Sherlock's. At university no roommate lasted more than five days, he ended up in a single as a default. You've met his closest chum from his uni days."

John searches his memory. "Seb? He hates Seb. I mean, really actively hates him."

"You see my point then. And since then, he's opted to live on his own in the city."

"Then why on earth did he want a flatmate for Baker Street?"

"Who knows what logic my brother follows? I believe it was an experiment, since he'd never tried it before. Perhaps he was actually lonely. I couldn't say. He could certainly afford 221B on his own with his stipend. But I'm positive he never expected to meet anyone as tolerant and compatible with his lifestyle as you have been. I certainly didn't. In fact, I was pretty sure no such person existed. My point is, for better or worse, you've become integral to my brother's existence and are only likely to grow more so."

"I still think you're exaggerating."

"Just because he acts like he doesn't need or care about anyone doesn't make it true, even if he'd prefer not to believe it himself. He talks to you when you're not there, John."

"And before me, he talked to his skull."

"Yet when you're gone and the skull is there, he still talks to you."

John leans back in his chair and closes his eyes. Finally he says, "I suppose you're going to make me say it, aren't you? All right then. I have no intention of leaving Sherlock's side unless he decides he wants me to. Happy?"

"No."

John raises his eyebrows. "Well, what then? Do you want me to leave now, get out of his life? Because that's really none of your damn business. Come to think of it, none of this is."

"Calm down, John. You misunderstand me. You mustn't leave him, even if he says he wants you to, even if he demands you get out of his life. He might do such a thing for any number of misguided reasons, but believe me it would be the worst thing you could ever do to him."

"You don't ask much, do you?" John retorts bitterly. "Just a lifelong commitment to a man I didn't even know six months ago, who is possibly the most difficult person on the planet to live with."

"Are you telling me you did not, in fact, make that commitment in your own mind within 48 hours of meeting my brother?" Mycroft is implacable and unreadable.

"Oh, sod off," John snaps.

"You _have_ been spending too much time with Sherlock," Mycroft says, a faint smile playing on his lips.

* * *

"You're home early," Sherlock remarks without looking up from his book. "Problem?"

John should have known he'd notice, but by the time Mycroft was done with him it was too late to bother going in for his shift. "No," he says casually. "It was just a really slow afternoon so I decided to bugger off early."

Sherlock raises an eyebrow but doesn't comment or lift his eyes from the text.

John coughs and shifts guiltily. "So I was thinking, do you want to get some dinner? All we've in is that leftover steak and kidney pie that is starting to look suspicious."

"Can't," Sherlock says shortly.

"Oh…you've got plans?" Sherlock did not usually have plans that didn't involve a case, and they didn't have one on. At least that John knew of.

Sherlock shuts his book with clear annoyance. "Just a legal matter I have to finish dealing with."

"A legal matter," John says flatly.

"It's nothing of importance, just time sensitive. In fact I should probably be going now," he says, getting up and gathering his coat and mobile.

It's an opening. A chance to say one of the many things he's been holding back, uncertain of the other man's reaction. A chance to get out before his life becomes any madder, any more the property of Sherlock Holmes. He should run now, save them both the heartbreak. He should speak his feelings, give Sherlock a chance to change his mind. He should jump him and kiss him into oblivion. There are a million things he should do right now, before his friend walks out that door and signs those papers.

"Sherlock…" he begins. The detective pauses at the threshold and turns, looking at him with pale, emotionless eyes.

"Yes, John?"

"Oh… nothing. Not important. I'll tell you later."

Sherlock looks quizzical, but doesn't push the issue. "I'll be late, don't wait up."

And then he is gone and John is alone the flat; nothing has really changed but nothing will ever be quite the same.


End file.
